Page 32 of Two for Roughing

Damir licked his lips. “Do you have anything with you?”

“Anything like what?”

“A toy?”

“It’s a four-day roadie. Even if I had a toy, I wouldn’t have packed it.”

“You don’t have any?”

Kilian shrugged fluidly. “Whenever I get the urge, I go out and find a guy.”

“Spoiled brat.” Damir clucked his tongue. Not only spoiled, reckless too. He’d need to invest in a plug or two, something wide and heavy to keep Kilian out of trouble.

Wait, no.

He wasn’t seeing Kilian. Their relationship was extremely casual and completely undefined. Buying him sex toys would not be a casual thing to do, probably. Not that Damir knew how to be casual fuckbuddies with someone under these circumstances. Before now, his experience consisted of one-off encounters or spending summers in Moscow with Sasha from school or Kyrill from his U15 team or sometimes both. They stayed over at one another’s houses on the weekends and fucked after late nights out when they could feasibly blame the choice to sleep in one bed on the hour.

The rules were clearer when your fuckbuddies lived in the same place but knew you would be gone in a month or two—regular sex with little to no conversation required and everyone’s expectations tempered.

“You know what they say about spoiled brats,” Kilian said, drawing Damir out of his musings about sex toys and boundaries.

“What do they say?”

“They need to be put in their place.”

“And what is your place?” Damir finished chopping the toppings and sprinkled them on top of the fish, then salted liberally and slid the dish into the oven on the rack above the potatoes. He set a timer and turned back to Kilian.

Kilian was watching him, a small smile playing around his lips. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Damir hummed. “Not an answer.”

The sheets rustled as Kilian shifted. “You know where my place is.”

“But I want you to tell me.” Damir rinsed his hands and dried them off on a dishtowel before peering right down the camera. “Where do you want me to put you?”

Kilian’s cheeks were pink when he mumbled, “On my knees.”

“You’d look good there.”

“You could use me. I’d stay still for you, and you could take whatever you want, I’d be so good for you, I promise.” The words spilled out, hectic and too loud in the kitchen. Damir checked over his shoulder to make sure Ketchup hadn’t left his room.

“You’re always good for me,” Damir said when he was sure they were alone. “You’d let me fuck your mouth, hm? Would it be as good as your pussy?”

The sound Kilian made, a sharp, longing thing, sent a bolt of heat to Damir’s gut.

“I miss you inside me.”

Damir scoffed. “It’s been two days.”

“But you fucked me so good.”

Never let it be said Damir was immune to flattery. “I did, hm? And now you’re so desperate for more you’d let me fuck your throat too?”

Kilian groaned. “Can I touch myself?”

“I like that you’re asking for permission.”

“Can I? Please?”